


Talla's Picture

by FrancescaMonterone



Series: Singularities Verse [4]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Could be either, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Memories, Old Age, slightly morbid (mostly Malcolm's fault)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-06 22:57:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11046090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancescaMonterone/pseuds/FrancescaMonterone
Summary: Malcolm Reed's visit to an old friend turns into a shared reminiscence of the good old days and the realization that home is where your heart is





	Talla's Picture

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely tied to the Singularities Verse, but can be read alone. Talla is the daughter of Archer's old friend, the Andorian Thy'lek Shran.

It always felt like coming home.

A century and more of travelling in space, visiting planets, cities and stations too numerous to be counted, never mind remembered in full detail, and walking up to this unassuming little house with the picket fence and the rosebushes out front always felt like coming home.

Malcolm stepped up to the door and pressed his hand against the scanner. Access was granted immediately.

That was another thing: no matter what happened, here he would always be welcome.

It was a strange feeling, even after so many years.

Inside, the house smelled of dinner. Familiar warmth enveloped him, more a spiritual than a physical thing. It was good to be home.

"In here," Jon called from the living room. Malcolm followed his voice and found him setting the table. From the doorway, Malcolm watched fondly as he carefully laid out plates and silverware, napkins and glasses. The effort that went into such a simple thing was endearing.

"What's the occasion?" he asked, gesturing towards the small bouquet of flowers on the table.

"One of the cadets brought them over. Nyota Uhura. Lovely girl, she's one of Pike's recruitments. Communications. She has an amazing talent for languages."

"Ah," Malcolm said, nodding. "Is she a fellowship student?"

Jon confirmed. "Yes. You know, she reminds me of Hoshi. She has the same passion, the same boundless curiosity and thirst for knowledge. Maybe some of that exceptional talent for interpretation as well, but I'd be a poor judge of that."

Malcolm didn't say anything in response. Hoshi Sato had died over a decade ago, and she was still keenly missed... by both of them, if he was honest with himself. She had been more than a friend; she had been family. The last of their old _Enterprise_ crew to move on and leave them behind. (Not counting T'Pol, but T'Pol was hidden away in her monastery on Vulcan and had been for the last forty years or more.)

"Come, sit," Jon invited, and Malcolm followed.

He was served meat and side-dishes, both without asking. After a century, Jon knew his tastes in anything.

"There was a bit of commotion at the Academy, I hear," Jon said, helping himself to more sauce. "Pike's trying to push the little wunderkind he picked up in Russia a couple of years ago through admissions, and there appears to be some resistance. But - I looked at the test scores and he's right; the kid is a genius."

"Most of Pike's picks are, in one way or another. And a pain in the ass." Malcolm stabbed the green beans with a little more force than strictly necessary.

Jon grinned. "Had a few of them in your classes, didn't you?"

Too many, if you asked him.

"Anyway, somebody decided to take matters into their own hands and messed with the kid's psych eval. And now Pike is up in arms, obviously, and out for blood. He didn't say as much, but I know him well enough. If he finds out who was behind it, that person better run for the Neutral Zone."

"I like Chris Pike," Malcolm said, scooping up carrots. "He has a delightfully straightforward approach to most things."

"He's also terrified of you."

"Yes, that helps, too." He flashed Jon a quick, ironic smile, and the other man laughed. Mission accomplished. Malcolm didn't like to waste his rare smiles, but Jon rarely disappointed.

"I talked to Barnett, and he was not amused. He doesn't like people messing with the admissions procedures, obviously. Which is a good thing, in this case, because I got him to discount the failed psych eval and instead rely on the testimony of the kid's therapist, which is much more favorable. He agreed to admit him after six months of preparatory classes... and now Pike owes me one."

"That might come in handy," Malcolm said, putting down his fork. "So, happy end for everyone?"

Jon shook his head. "Hardly. Somebody has it in for Pike, and if you ask me, it's related less to his connection with Marcus, and more to the fact that he showed up for the new term with Jim Kirk in tow."

Malcolm whistled softly. "It's true, then."

And if it was, the new semester would definitely turn out to be _interesting._

"I saw his enlistment papers with my own eyes," Jon confirmed, sounding way too giddy as he said it. Of course. Cue the eyeroll, because he should have known that Jon would support the admittance of Jim Kirk into the Academy.

"Trouble," Malcolm said laconically, not bothering to explain. It was obvious, wasn't it.

"Chris Pike thrives on trouble."

Malcolm harrumphed. "Remind you of anyone?"

That got him another grin, broader this time. "We can't all be as straight-laced as you."

"There's a pun hidden in there, and it's terrible," Malcolm said, smiling despite himself. So much for those rare smiles. Jon was using up the month's supply, fast.

Jon, looking slightly smug, leaned back in his chair. "Speaking of which - Barnett is worried and more than a bit scandalized, because his head of recruitment has apparently taken up with a cadet. A Medical cadet, but you know Barnett. Any hint of improper upsets his delicate sensitivities."

Malcolm rolled his eyes, he couldn't resist the urge anymore. Richard Barnett rubbed him the wrong way. "Is that really any of his business?"

" _He_ seems to think so. And Chris apparently laughed in his face, which probably didn't help."

Malcolm wasn't terribly interested in campus gossip, but he let Jon talk. Over the years, they had settled into a comfortable pattern; Jon talked, and Malcolm listened - well, most of the time - offering the occasional caustic comment.

After dinner, they carried the dishware to the kitchen together, and wandered back into the living room with glasses of brandy. Malcolm paused in front of the painting that hung between the two windows facing the garden. It frequently drew his attention, even after many years of familiarity with it. It was a strange mix of fascination and revulsion - the painting depicted a stormy ocean, and Malcolm suffered from acute aquaphobia.

"That's one of Talla's", Jon said, coming to stand beside him.

"I know."

"She came to visit us, a year after her father had died," Jon recalled, "Shran's death had hit her very hard, and I invited her to Earth, hoping the change of scenery would help her... we took her to see the ocean for the first time in her life, and she was so fascinated. Do you remember?"

"Yes." It seemed ages ago. Come to think of it, it _had_ been ages ago.

"She painted a series of ocean-themed pictures after that, but this one was always my favorite, and she gave it to me. I've kept it ever since."

Malcolm tried to remember the last time he had seen Thy'lek Shran's daughter. It had been just before he had retired from active duty. Talla, another familiar face gone from his life now. Andorians generally had a lower life expectancy than humans, and Talla had passed away decades ago. It was a tribute to Jon's sentimentality that he still kept the painting.

"We truly are old," he said, still lost in thought. Soon, it would be their turn.

A large, warm hand came to rest on his shoulder. "I am glad you are still here to share my old age with me, my friend." Jon said, voice low and rumbling in his chest with an emotion Malcolm felt rather than heard.

There was no obvious response to that statement, nothing that would have done justice to the complexity of their century-old relationship. Malcolm wondered - not for the first time - if Jon knew that if it wasn't for him, he would have dipped his proverbial hat and taken leave of this world years ago. Probably he did, though. Jon had developed a habit of reading his mind; highly convenient given that Malcolm loathed having to verbally dissect his feelings.

He leaned back into a familiar embrace. It was his response, and the only one he had to give.


End file.
